Salt Lines
by sandymg
Summary: The first time Sam misses Dean.  Stanford-era


****Fic**: **Salt Lines**  
><strong>Author<strong>: **sandymg**  
><strong>****Beta**: **borgmama1of5 **  
><strong>Summary<strong>: **The first time Sam misses Dean. (Stanford-era)**  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: **I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. **  
><strong>

**Salt Lines**

Sam's first several months in Stanford were a blur, passing as fast as the scenery used to flash by the Impala's window. There was orientation and registering for classes and meeting his roommate and avoiding questions. That last was so much more draining than he'd ever imagined it could be. Although, just as in dealing with civilians when hunting, fellow students quickly made assumptions, filled in the blanks when information wasn't provided.

His roommate, Ed, thought Sam was an army brat. Sam had only mentioned that his dad had been in the service and that they traveled around a lot. Well … maybe the assumption wasn't that big a leap.

Freshman life settled into classes and studying and writing papers. Working his part-time job at the bookstore and crashing in a bed made for elves. Well, not real elves because that would be dangerous.

Then lather, rinse, and repeat.

In retrospect, Ed was the best roommate Sam could have hoped for in his first year. Ed was, in essence, the anti-Dean. Not cool. Not funny. Not clever. Truthfully, he was boring. The quiet bookworm spent most of his time buried in his text books. Never played music too loud. Never farted to get attention. Hardly spoke, and Ed laughed like a backed up sink, an oddly moist gurgle. Not the hardy, head-back hoot that represented a true laugh in Sam's mind.

Sam reveled in the dullness.

Sam thought he was prepared with all sorts of school smarts, but Stanford was tough and took all he had. Sam intended to graduate in record speed. His course load was ridiculous. He didn't care. He wasn't there to make friends, to party. He was there to study, to move on. To build a life.

To be safe.

The other really good thing about Ed was that he wasn't very inquisitive. Or observant. This enabled Sam to line the windows and door with salt every night and Ed never asked about it. Sam always waited until Ed was out before doing it so it's not like he ever witnessed it directly. And if he ever saw the thin whitish line around the room, Ed never said anything. Yep. Perfect roommate.

Ed never asked questions. Until the day he did.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Sam jerked so hard that the book he'd been reading dropped to the floor. Bending down to pick it up he banged his head on the way up. "OW!"

"You okay, Sammy?"

Sam spun on the seat. "Wh-at? What did you—"

Ed looked at him through his thick glasses. Eyes tiny and round. "Just … looked like that had to hurt."

Okay. No. Nobody had used that cursed nickname since he got here. Certainly not Ed who barely used his name at all. Barely even spoke. And had he just been asked about—

"So, ghosts … do you think they're real?"

Sam answered very slowly. "No. I don't. What makes you ask that?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No … I just … wondered."

Sam nodded. He was confused but let it go.

That evening he made sure his salt lines were straight and solid.

He dreamt of the Impala that night. Sleek and long, golden light glinting off her chrome bumpers. Sticky seats and smell of sweat and food and gasoline. Nothing smells anymore, he thought in the dream right before he woke up.

Ed continued uncharacteristically chatty as the week continued, commenting on daily minutia like it was all suddenly new. "Seems like we just finished midterms and today was the end of finals."

Sam grunted a 'yeah.' Maybe if he didn't respond, Ed would return to normal. He liked quiet Ed better. Sam was idly thumbing a book he didn't need to read any longer. School was winding down for most of the students. But not him. Summer semester would start in two weeks.. Couldn't be soon enough for Sam. He didn't want to stop.

"Can't believe summer's here. You going home, Sam?"

The words he'd been reading swam into a swirl.

_Sammy?_

"What?" Sam practically yelled, reeling himself in upon sighting Ed's pale, blank stare.

"I … just asked if you were—"

"No. Taking classes through the summer." He paused, staring at Ed through too-long bangs. "Are you … did you call me—"

Ed blinked nervously. "I … don't think I'm coming back."

"Oh." This was unexpected. Sam asked the question Ed was clearly waiting for. "Why not?"

Ed looked away as he answered. "Miss my family. Gonna transfer to a school back home. I thought … I wanted this so bad. Thought maybe here, far away … I don't know … I could be someone else. Not the shy geek. Thought I could reinvent myself or something." Ed let out that gurgled laugh. "Not gonna happen I guess. An' then I spoke to my brother and he said, 'Eddie … just come home and be yourself.'"

"Eddie?"

Ed smiled, making him look impossibly young. "Yeah. M' stupid big brother calls me that."

Sam swallowed hard. Fought the hot prickle that swelled in his eyes. What would he do if he heard that?

_Sammy, come home_.

"You okay?"

His freshman year had passed very fast. A blur. Like jumping from town to town and never stopping. Always moving. He needed that. It was familiar.

Dammit.

"My stupid big brother calls me 'Sammy.'"

Ed's lips twisted into a puzzled frown. "You never said you had a brother. In fact, I'm sure you said—"

"His name's Dean."

"Oh."

"And I do."

"Have a brother?"

"No, believe in ghosts."

Ed gaped at him, body moving back slightly along his bed as if to put more distance between them. He was staring at Sam as if Sam had just turned into a specter himself.

Sam's bitchface came out. "Didn't you just ask me about that the other night?"

"G-ghosts?"

"Yeah." Sam was getting annoyed.

"No."

Sam stared back. The dream about the Impala played like a broken film reel in his mind. "Okay … I … sorry. Just kidding."

"But you do have a brother? Because I could swear you said you didn't have any sib—"

"Yeah, I do."

Two weeks and classes would start and things would return to normal. His new normal. And the damn salt would keep the ghosts away.

_**fin**_


End file.
